


A Cup of Wine

by thedevilchicken



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Getting Together, M/M, Public Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24807334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier attend a wedding. It turns out there's more in the wine that's used to toast the bride and groom than just nice grapes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 278
Collections: Heat Fic Summer 2020





	A Cup of Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



Jaskier has performed at a lot of weddings. A _lot_ of weddings. Funerals, too, and seasonal festivals, and the occasional strange religious ritual, betrothals, that kind of thing, but mostly...weddings. They can be fairly high drama but they usually also pay fairly well, and it's not like he had any reason to suspect that the post-wedding celebration that night was going to be in any way different from the fifty-plus other wedding celebrations that had gone before it (or that he'd gone to before it, at any rate). He was meant to turn up, look good, smile, sing, get paid, and leave. Getting paid was the important part, given he'd run up a bill as long as his arm at the local tavern, but he'd also been looking forward to the singing. He supposed he'd have found another line of work if the thought of snappy vocals hadn't appealed.

And really, the singing went well. Anyone who wasn't drunk by the time the singing started was already halfway there, at least, which usually helped things along a bit. The happy couple actually did look happy, which also helped - he'd been to more than a few awkward weddings where the bride and groom had looked more likely to throttle each other than live happily ever after, which was always a bit disconcerting. And Geralt was there, as it happened, which helped his own mood quite a lot. Apparently he'd done a good turn for the lord of the manor and he'd insisted he come along and join the celebrations; Geralt was doing his best to look put out about it, but it wasn't like Geralt of Rivia to turn down free food. Not when he could mostly keep himself to himself and scowl whenever anyone tried to ask a personal question. A number of people tried, in varying degrees of inebriation; none of them succeeded.

"I'll be talking to the witcher if you have any desperate need of me," Jaskier told the rather grumpy-looking man in charge of the evening's entertainment, who gave him a look that said _better men than you have tried_. Then he wandered across the room as a fleet of waiters started to spread throughout the room with cups of wine for them to toast the couple with. He was still getting through the preliminary _well, fancy meeting you here_ stage of conversation, lurking on chairs by the wall out of the way, when a waiter passed each of them a cup. Then the groom's father stood up at the wedding party's table. 

It was a boring speech, most of which Jaskier tuned out by whispering extremely discreetly to Geralt about all the rumours he'd heard regarding the party's illustrious guests. One of them might actually have been the bride's real father, if you believed the gossip. One of them was having an affair with his extremely attractive gardener. One of them was probably a wanted criminal living there under a terrible made-up name, or else her parents had just had terrible taste in nomenclature. Geralt didn't seem particularly impressed with any of it, not that he ever really did, though Jaskier suspected he was intrigued on the inside. And then, when the interminable speech did finally terminate, they drank. 

Jaskier's face felt immediately flushed, which was odd because over the years he'd built up a frankly ridiculous tolerance for alcohol. His limbs felt warm, right down to his fingers and toes. His heartbeat quickened till it was thudding in his chest. That didn't seem quite right and when Jaskier looked around the room, he understood why rather rapidly; the other guests were already taking their clothes off, or at least pulling them out of the way. He supposed it explained things, at least. It explained things rather succinctly.

Geralt frowned at the cup in his hand. He winced at it. "Fuck," he said. 

"Technically, I think that's what comes next," Jaskier replied. 

Geralt sighed. He made a face, like grimacing at the cup that had until recently been full of wine laced with the aphrodisiac pollen indigenous to the area was going to turn back time or make it spontaneously exude from his pores, though honestly Jaskier was fairly sure he'd seen Geralt do stranger things. Maybe witchers were even immune to it, who knew. Then he dropped the cup to the floor with a clatter. Jaskier put his on a nearby table, with a very nice vase. Come to think of it, the flowers inside looked decidedly sex-polleny. Really, he should've known all along.

"Witcher, could I interest you in..." said a moderately handsome fellow, as he approached the spot where the two of them were loitering. He was sporting a rather ridiculous erection underneath his breeches, pulling the fabric taut, and he gestured at it. Jaskier supposed he could sympathise because his own cock was starting to do something very similar. 

Geralt raised his eyebrows pointedly. "No," he replied. "You couldn't." 

The man shrugged and said something that sounded rather like _your loss_ , and then he wandered off again; Jaskier watched him go, and it wasn't exactly long before he found someone much more willing. Then Jaskier turned his head and looked at Geralt, who had his eyes firmly closed. He tapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. One of Geralt's yellow eyes cracked open. 

"So, witcher," he said. "Could _I_ interest you in..." He gestured in the general direction of his own groin and honestly, he expected Geralt to snort and maybe smirk and maybe scowl and tell him no in no uncertain terms. He He expected him to shoo him off to some other part of the room to find a nice noble who was into their odd nuptial traditions to share the evening with, or to point out that actually, there was nothing stopping him just taking the situation in hand, in his _own_ hand, quite literally. Mostly, he expected him to look amused, if you knew how to see past that I'm-a-witcher frown that had ceased to fool Jaskier several years before.

Geralt clenched his jaw; Jaskier saw the muscle work, which said his thoughts were more than usually occupied. Geralt clenched his fists; Jaskier saw his knuckles turning white, which probably meant he was making a decision, or else he was about to knock him out. Then he licked his lips. He opened both eyes. 

"Yes," he said. "You could."

Jaskier remembers meaning to ask if that was just the pollen-laced wine talking or if he actually meant it. He remembers meaning to point out that there were several tens of people who'd be only too happy to ride out the pollinated party riding Geralt, none of whom he'd ever have to see again. He remembers meaning to say something, _anything_ , but his head was light and his cock was throbbing and when Geralt straddled his lap so the chair they were suddenly both sitting on creaked beneath them, when kissed him on the mouth...well, saying things really seemed a bit superfluous. He'd've been a bit muffled anyway.

Geralt's hands fumbled at Jaskier's waist and he wasn't particularly gentle about getting him out of his breeches. Jaskier's hands were oddly steadier at Geralt's waist, but that didn't make him gentle about pulling him out of his trousers. They stroked themselves together, Geralt's mouth pressed to Jaskier's neck, his breath almost loud enough to drown out a hundred amorous wedding guests, with Jaskier's free hand twisted tight in his hair. All around them the other attendees were fucking. Then Geralt slid from his lap to kneel on the floor between his thighs. He sat back on his bootheels, cock standing up hard, hair mussed, face flushed. 

Somehow, Geralt had never seemed the type to kneel, but he definitely knelt. He leaned in and he licked the tip of Jaskier's cock. He looked up at him, all gold eyes and white hair, and he teased him with the wet tip of his tongue. Jaskier remembers groaning, cursing, calling him a fucking tease, then taking that back when Geralt took the head of his erection in his mouth. He was still talking when Geralt sucked him, with the tie out of his hair and Jaskier's fingers in it, surprisingly soft considering all the blood and guts he'd had it drenched in over the years. He was still talking when Geralt stood up, and stood him up, and pushed him up face-first against the nearest wall. He was still talking when Geralt bared his arse and rubbed his hole with fingers slicked with oil from the table left over from dinner. He was still talking when he fucked him, slow and hard, their hands joined awkwardly against the wall. Maybe he wasn't making much sense, but there were definitely words. 

In the morning, he woke in the manor's stables, on his side in a pile of hay, with his shoulder nuzzled by a rather inquisitive chestnut mare. Fortunately, he was fully clothed, though he wasn't entirely sure when that had happened. Except when he looked at himself, the jacket he'd got one was actually Geralt's. Not that that explained anything. 

"Morning, Roach," he said, and patted her nose. She whinnied, which felt like a good enough response.

"Morning, Jaskier," Geralt said, behind him, so Jaskier turned onto his other side. 

"You're not Roach," he said. 

"No," he said. "I'm Geralt. We've met." 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. He shook his head. "You could say that," he replied. Then he looked at Geralt, lying there, sprawled on his back, shirt sleeves rolled up, jacket obviously missing because it had found its way onto someone else - where Jaskier's was, who even knew. He had a red mark at his collarbone where Jaskier had bitten him. Jaskier's face still felt a little sore from the scrub of Geralt's stubble. 

"So, about last night..." Jaskier said. 

"What about it?" Geralt replied. 

He remembers the look on Geralt's face, that _I'll be fucked if I'm going to make this conversation easy_ look, that _where exactly is this going and am I going to regret it?_ look. So he decided hey, in for a penny, and he straddled Geralt's hips. Geralt didn't try to move him, which was at least a bit surprising; he just raised his eyebrows. 

"Quick question," Jaskier said. He drummed his fingers on Geralt's chest. "Does sex pollen even work on witchers?"

Geralt looked up at him. Geralt's hands skimmed his thighs and settled at his hips.

"No," he replied. He shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

So really, that was that. 

He'd like to say they didn't fuck in front of the horses, but they definitely did; Roach was probably scandalised, though she seemed to forgive them once they'd stolen her a carrot or two. Then they paid off Jaskier's drinking debt and left the town together. 

And the next time there was a wedding, the next time there was a toast, they drank. Whether there was pollen in the wine or not didn't really seem to matter very much; Geralt went ahead and kissed him anyway.


End file.
